


Nostalgia

by Ghostbursoot



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Ghosts, Hurt No Comfort, Manipulation, Mentions of Death, Pain, Snow, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostbursoot/pseuds/Ghostbursoot
Summary: "Ghostbur, I'm going to need you to go on a walk in the forest.""But... But the invites-""I'll handle them. Don't worry. But for now, you need to go to the snow biome. It's not safe for you. Tommy is getting angry and he wants to kill you. It's for your own safety."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Nostalgia

"Ghostbur, I'm going to need you to go on a walk in the forest."  
"But... But the invites-"  
"I'll handle them. Don't worry. But for now, you need to go to the snow biome. It's not safe for you. Tommy is getting angry and he wants to kill you. It's for your own safety.

* * *

He last recalled the sensation of snow from when he was younger, toddling around on two feet with uncertainty inside a warm home, lit by lanterns and a crackling fire, casting shadows on the white ceiling with tendrils carved into it. Phil was sitting on a fern green sofa ( wedged between some horrific looking pillows that were silk but not really comfortable. Phil had his wings to do that for him but Wilbur himself had not inherited that trait so he merely had to look at the cushions in distaste) watching as his son would press himself against the icy window pane and watch snowflakes drift from the twinkling night sky above with an awestruck expression. There had been anticipation in his features to play in the blanketed ground, building snowmen and making igloos were tasks on his own little agenda but he had to stay in, where it was warm - at least until the snow settled.

It had been somewhat of a magical and joyful experience and so, when being told to venture into a place where snow was abundant, a wave of joy and nostalgia consumed Ghostbur. He even forgot that Tommy was apparently going to kill him (did he do something wrong? Although, given his past self, there was probably some good reasoning to the act) and merely thanked Dream before bidding him a good day as he got on his way.

The party had been rescheduled anyway, according to said other, so he had enough time to re-experience snow as much as he wanted. Of course, he probably wouldn't be able to feel it but that wouldn't stop him from being around the beautiful natural phenomenon.

With excited haste, Ghostbur made sure he had enough food with him for the journey. Dream hadn't given him a map, per say, but had pointed him in the direction of the closest snow forest, so he found himself merely walking (or floating occasionally) in a straight path towards his ideal location.

He just hoped it wouldn't rain.

It took him hours to reach his desired location. He didn't think it would be that far yet it was worth the trek. The ground was blanketed in a thick sheen of pure snow, whilst the dark oak trees around him stood tall and proud with their branches fanned out, giving him a reminder of Christmas. They too were also tucked in cosily by the snow, icicles decorated on them in ornamentation. The sky held baskets of snow clouds, those type of clouds that held the hard cotton colour without any blemishes, making said sky look merely like a blank canvas. Small snowflakes came dancing down, some visibly sticking to the bark of the surrounding trees as if they wanted to show off their unique patterns.

Ghostbur couldn't help but feel a sense of childish joy yet resigned peace upon looking at this scenery. This was the earth at its most innocent and its most quiet. Whilst he loved L'manburg to bits, he didn't think it could beat a sight like this.

Foxes skittered around in the snow, chasing after frantic bunnies that were occasionally lost to the white wasteland. The faint humming of bees resting in distant beehives were overpowered by the rustle of leaves on trees and the occasional twinkle of ice bumping against eachother - reminiscent of wind chimes and the whispers of spring.

The only thing that upset him was that he couldn't pick up the snow from the ground. He couldn't feel it's fluffy and smooth texture under his fingertips or watch in awe as, despite its cold nature, it was warm on his hands as it held its shape. 

At least he could pick it up.

Or so he thought.

He crouched down, reaching to grab some of the snow. Maybe he could at least make a snowman whilst he was here? It would at least distract him from the slight sadness of the situation. 

Sure, it probably wouldn't look like a snowman as, he strained to remember that they normally had a carrot nose and black pebble eyes that either looked as if they had been polished and treated with the respect of a diamond or as if they were a piece of coal ready to be thrown into the fire, but he wouldn't let that stop him from indulging in some joy within his memories. Most of his memories were impossible to re-experience. Fundy wanted nothing to do with him (although that didn't stop him from trying), he couldn't feel, smell or taste so involving himself with the bakery was just a notion of impossibility that only spelt misery, Phil probably couldn't kill him again (why was that a happy memory?) and Techno or Sally were no where to be found.

He clenched a ball of snow in his hands, yet his mind was too far away to think - and draw delight from the fact - that he could transport the substance around with ease, making his quest to make a snowman possible. He was focused on the fact he couldn't feel it, yet he felt the weight of it. He knew it was there, like picking up a pencil yet he couldn't feel the texture or the cold or... Or anything for that matter. The only thing that shot through him that wasn't down to his surroundings or down to the snow was this undying tundra within him. It didn't matter what happened in his day that brought joy to him, the blizzard always remained. It was like it was locked to him in a contract he could only blame himself for probably forging in life. 

Within the midst of his confusion, his misery and his anger, he failed to notice that a small blizzard was conjuring itself within his area - not that it could probably match the intensity of his own. 

Why? What had he done in life and why had he done it? Why had he managed to push everyone away from him to the point that his mere existence brought a tired and hesitant light in the eyes of those around him? Why couldn't he remember? Why wasn't he allowed to understand the extent of what he did to hurt people? That was the idea that annoyed him the most. No matter how hard he tried to help or tried to bring a smile, he was still blamed for something he didn't understand. How the hell could he right his wrongs if he was denied the chance to do so? Didn't the people around him deserve better?

Didn't they deserve to...... To.....

_“Emancipate the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers....."_

Staring at the snow, another memory came to mind. It had slammed the fogginess within his head to the sides, filled with anger like a caged animal wanting to be let out.

He remembered trekking into a forest, similar to this one yet it had been surrounded by hills before. Tommy was with him, in his uniform yet it was torn up from a shower of arrows they were forced to flee from. He had managed to grab an old and worn coat within the confusion, yet it didn't help to block out the cold completely as it contained many patches and holes. 

They had no home. Not anymore. And the snow was merely an audience that had lost its child-like wonder and had become a mocking enemy filled with scorn. It only served to worsen the situation, make his life harder and torment them both. It too had turned against him, and it had sent the bitter thought through him that maybe this time, so was the entire bloody world.

And just with that thought, everything suddenly seemed to go silent. The storm didn't stop yet he couldn't hear the bustle of L'manburg, its name making him grimace with grief over the home and the friends he had lost, he couldn't hear Tommy who had been occasionally breaking the silence with a hopeful mantra that contained too much effort that he no longer had. The boy himself merely moved on into the woods to find shelter. 

Wilbur stayed in an open spot, the trees shuffling away from him. He didn't need their shelter.

Instead, he looked up at the sky. He recognised the snow clouds and occasionally a snowflake got caught in his eyelashes.

And with a frightening conclusion, he realised that he couldn't feel the cold. In fact, he had already been cold and entering this area merely felt like the surroundings were embracing it rather that changing it. 

He was _so so cold._

Pain seared his hand and Ghostbur snapped out of his trance, flinging the snow onto the ground as if he was handling hot food. 

Snow was just frozen water. It could hurt him.

And he noticed a little too late that the intense blizzard was harming him, melting him as if he was a snowman left all alone out in the sun.

And he noticed a fogginess clouding his head, confusing him as to what he had been thinking about. Wait... Why had he zoned out? Why was he upset? Why was he scared?

And he noticed tears started to pool at his eyes.

And he noticed that he was shaking and nothing but pure agony was starting to fill him like wine being poured into a cup only to be set aflame in the process.

And he noticed that his chest had erupted in scarlet pain.

And he noticed that blue started to drip from his mouth and fall to the ground. Before he knew it, he started coughing, spluttering out more of this substance. He had to get the blue out of him. Blue would remove all the pain. Blue helped him. Blue blue blue.

Where was he? Why was he lost? 

The forest remained silent. Yet it didn't stop snowing.

The world was still against him.


End file.
